Cherry Red
by ilikecrystals
Summary: Written for Spanking World's SpankVent 2015: In which Sam is cold, gets whiny, makes bad decisions and Dean has to teach him a lesson. This story contains a harsh punishment spanking of a teenager by a young adult. This was written very quickly and didn't turn out like I thought it would.


Written for Spanking World's Spankvent Calendar 2015: Ways to keep warm on a cold night  
Implement(s): Hand/Switch

Rating: M

Notes/Warnings: I tried to make this just a short, down and dirty spanking story but this turned into something different. It's also not my best as I wrote it very quickly and kept going off on tangents but I offer it up for your reading pleasure and hope you enjoy at least pieces of it.

As always, I love constructive criticism and reviews so bring it! Thanks for reading :)

##

"Dean, I'm cold."

They're squatting in a broken down old house in the middle of freaking winter in the middle of freaking nowhere and Sam's goddamn _freezing_ -

"Here." Dean throws a blanket over Sam's shoulders it's the ratty wool one from the trunk, worn through in spots and mostly just used to wrap around shovels to keep the dirt from getting all over from grave digging. It smells nasty and feels worse, it's itchy and filthy and Sam shrugs it off almost instantly, his skin recoiling from the touch of it.

"Jesus, that's gross." He kicks at it where it lays on the floor and glares at Dean, "Can't we start a fire or something to get warm? I can't even feel my damn hands-"

"Sammy, the chimney's busted so we'd only smoke ourselves outta here and then we'd be out in the wind in addition to being cold. Least here we got shelter, even if it's not perfect. Use the blanket if you're cold, princess. It'll wash off."

Sam looks around, frustrated, "Well, can't we just make a fire pit in here? Gather up stones to contain it and open up a window to let out the smoke? It's better than freezing to death."

Dean gives him a look like he's stupid and yeah, maybe not the brightest suggestion in the world but it's better than nothing. Then his brother reaches down, retrieves the blanket and puts it around Sam again, "I'll go gather some wood. Not going to do it in here, that's for sure but if it'll stop your bitching, I'll build one outside. Stay here outta the wind. I'll be back."

"Why can't we just go find a motel? Why we gotta stay here?" Sam can hear the whine in his own voice and hates it but the shivering is taking him over and he's feeling very sorry for himself.

"Because Dad said to stay here so we stay here. We just gotta wait for him to get back and we can go somewhere warmer. Just hang in there, Sammy." Dean's voice is long-suffering, placating but Sam hears the tight hold on his temper and knows that Dean's ready to snap at him if he whines one more time.

##

He shrugs off the blanket as soon as Dean's shut the door, throwing it across the room and stamping his feet to get feeling back in, looks around to see if there's any other way to get warm and his eyes fall on the car keys.

Of course! The Impala has a heater and a damn good one at that! He doesn't think, just scoops up the key ring and is out the door into the night, rounding the house and bee-lining for the old barn where Dean parked her this morning.

The wind catches his breath, steals it away and his thin, too-short jacket is torn into instantly, icy chill getting inside and wrapping around his chest and damn it! Why isn't he heavier like Dean? His big brother doesn't feel the cold half as much as he does because Sam's so freaking skinny lately, just shot up another couple of inches and his clothes never freaking fit anymore!

Can't wait 'till he's big, older, like Dean, hates being stupid fourteen, hates puberty with a passion and he's all lanky arms and legs, can't barely walk without tripping, his feet stuffed into shoes too tight and his pants showing his socks.

Never enough money to buy him good clothes, nope, all their money goes to food and weapons and gas to get them from hunt to hunt. His fashion sense is not important in the grand scheme of their lives and Dean has little patience when he complains, his dad even less.

He grips his collar tight, keeps his mind on the prize as the freezing wind whips tears into his eyes, clutches at his hair and buffets him into a shivering mess. Makes it to the barn in record time, gripping the handle with numb fingers and pulling back as hard as he can, the shriek of metal on metal loud as the hulking door slides with a groan to the right.

Sam's nose is assaulted with old hay and manure and mildew, the air stale and dense, the shine of the Impala stark against the muted colors of the old wood, the rusted tools hanging on hooks reflected in her windshield.

Hauls the door shut behind him, the high-pitched whistle of the wind abruptly muted, can still hear it at the windows but inside is still, dim and calm. Sam jerks open the driver door, the familiar wrench of unoiled hinges making him think of warm and peace and home.

He jingles the keys, presses in and starts the car, revving the engine to get her warm faster and almost orgasms when the first tendrils of heat curls around his toes and _yes, God, yeah_ , that's the ticket right there-

Cranks the heat up full blast and leans back into the seat, lets his head fall and his body relax into the blissful warmth and this is heaven right here-

Drowsily wishes Dean were here too, sharing in the warmth with him, because he's gotta be just as cold, but eventually, Sam starts to get tired, his vision blurs and he drifts, half-formed daydreams taking over his senses, the smell of exhaust coming through the floorboards a comforting blanket as the heat curls around his body like a warm hug.

And Sam sleeps.

##

"SAM! SAMMY!" It's Dean's voice and he sounds terrified and Sam tries to open his eyes, he does, but they're just too heavy and he weakly pushes at the hands that are gripping him, trying to tell Dean to just let him sleep but his voice is garbled, words mush in his mouth. He's being dragged into freezing air, sprawled out onto icy ground and manages to slit his eyes open when Dean's mouth lands on his, puffing breath into him-

And he's struggling against it because what the hell is Dean doing, kissing him, what the fuck, is he possessed or something because this is wrong, in all kinds of ways-

"Stop!" It's a hoarse croak out of Sam's mouth as he pushes at Dean away, wipes his lips on his sleeve and tries to force out the word 'Christo' but it's garbled, his mouth not working right, "Chrish-Chrishow!"

"You stupid, son of a-I'm not possessed, dumbass! You fucking shut the goddamn barn door and almost killed yourself with carbon monoxide! You passed out, Sam! With the car running inside of a closed building and I barely found you in time! You scared the shit out of me, man, I couldn't get you to wake up! I was giving you mouth to mouth, jerk, not kissing you!"

"Wahs jus so c-cold…" And it's taking all his energy to get his lips to work, his body shivering like crazy, the ground underneath him an icy slab and he'd give his right arm for a hot shower and a warm fire.

"You were almost dead, Sam! Holy fuck!" And Dean's jerking him up off the ground and lugging him into the house, supporting almost his entire weight because Sam is still groggy, knees buckled and boneless, and holy fuck, his head hurts!

He's clinging to Dean's strong shoulder, trying to make his legs work but it's not happening, he can't get his brain to connect to his body and all he can do is watch while Dean hauls him inside.

He must have blacked out again because the next thing he knows, he's on the couch, the old house creaking and groaning in the howling wind and Sam's head is starting to clear, fresh air penetrating and he realizes Dean just saved his life but his big brother is too pissed at him right now to listen to thanks or apologies.

It's five more minutes before his lungs stop wheezing, his brain finally back on all cylinders and he mumbles out a weak confession, "Dean, I'm-sorry, man, was just so cold, didn't think and-just - just didn't think."

"Damn right you didn't think but we're gonna rectify that problem soon enough, Sammy. Get up." Dean is pulling at him again, lifting him up bodily and shoving him towards the bed and he goes, not much choice, sits down on the mattress heavy, dejected because it's still fucking freezing in here, ice water around his bones and Sam knows he'll never be warm again.

"How's the head?" Dean's got a bottle of Ibuprofen in hand and is shaking out some tablets, handing them to Sam with a glass of water.

"Hurts like hell." Sam admits, because he's got a headache to beat the band starting in the back of his head and he reaches out, takes the pills without argument and stares warily up at Dean, knows his older brother's just itching to holler and lecture and he really can't take it right now, he really can't-

"Your cheeks are bright red and your eyes are so puffy, I can barely see them. Come on-" And Dean's wrapping the damn stinky blanket around him again, Sam's skin crawling as soon as he feels it but he shuts the hell up, lets Dean take care of him.

He's laid down, Dean curling around behind him and he's rucked up tight against his brother, a firm leg slung over the top of him as Dean gives him body heat, covers him as much as possible and it's working, the warmth is seeping in slowly, his head still groggy and aching but getting better and he can feel Dean trembling against him.

"You want some blanket? You're shivering." He mumbles up over his shoulder.

"Not cold, Sammy. Still pissed at you." But the voice doesn't sound angry at all. Nope, it's soft and low, an underlying tension in the tone of it and when the arms around him tighten even more, Sam gets it.

Dean's afraid. Probably because he's scared what Dad's gonna say when he tells him how stupid Sam was.

But Sam knows deep in his gut that's not it. Dean's afraid for him. He effectively scared the shit out of the most bad-assed hunter on the face of the planet, John Winchester included. Nothing scares Dean but somehow Sam managed to do it.

 _Great job, asshole_ , his inner voice snaps at him and he suddenly wants to grab onto Dean, bury himself in his brother's warmth and try to tell Dean through his touch that he's so sorry. So he does, rolling over and sliding a hug around Dean's waist, pulling close until he's immersed in the heat of Dean's body, feels it roll over him like a tantalizing flame and he doesn't question the feeling that overcomes him, home and love, nope, he just lets it. Feels Dean's trembling ease and lips brush his forehead in a kiss before his brother whispers, "Good night, bitch."

"'Night, jer-" And he doesn't finish the sentence because he's gone, lulled into sleep, Dean's okay now so he can rest, knows Dean will take care of him, watch over him and he's safe here, wrapped in his big brother's arms.

##

The sun wakes him, the bright shine of it making his brain hurt and he squints against it, tries to turn his head away but something is stopping him from moving-

Sees a chin over his left cheek and it's Dean-

Sam sweeps his gaze down, around, trying to orient where he is and what's going on-

And he's still curled up in Dean's hug, the firm body behind him half-laying on his to give him heat, and he's caught under Dean's weight but he doesn't even try to move because he's toasty warm finally, relaxed and calm and he doesn't want to move like ever-

Because this is heaven right here.

Dean wakes above him, stirs and shifts, blinks down at him in confusion before coming to consciousness quick and he's staring down at Sam searchingly, his voice sleep-rough, protective "Sammy? You okay? How's the head?"

And Sam remembers, the embarrassment flowing through because shit, he knew better and he'd been damn stupid last night, shutting himself inside with a running engine and no wonder Dean is looking at him like he's lost his mind. Sam can't believe he almost killed himself trying to get warm and he's ashamed, mortified and scared and grateful to Dean for being there, for saving him-

Sam does an internal inventory and nods, he's good now and Dean doesn't need to worry anymore, "Fine, Dean. I'm fine. Just-feel like such a fool, you know? Can't believe I did that, was just so cold and I'm sorry I scared you, sorry I…almost died. Jesus, what a lame thing to say, I know Dad would've kicked my ass if it happened on his watch and I-crap…"

And Dean is pushing back, putting space between them, "Well, it was pretty stupid, Sam, I mean, you're supposed to be the smart one so how exactly did you think that was a good idea?"

Sam sighs because he gets it, he does, knows it was an idiotic thing to do so can't Dean just stop harping about it? "Know it was dumb, Dean. Just was so cold…wasn't thinking clear-"

Dean looks away for a moment and when he looks back at Sam, his face is pinched tense and for some reason, it scares Sam more than Dean's anger would. He holds his hands in supplication to Sam, regret deepening the lines on his handsome face, "I-I can't, Sammy, I have to make sure you understand how the fuck serious this was. You-need to freaking think, man. You have to keep yourself safe, above everything else, Dad and I both taught you that and then when you pull a stupid stunt like this, it-I've got to drill it in, just like Dad would've if he was here, Sammy. Wish he w _as_ here and could take care of this but he's not so it falls to me."

Sam's stomach does a flip-flop and he swallows hard, his throat dust-dry suddenly, "What are you talking about, Dean?"

Dean's jaw firms and he slaps a hand onto his thigh, determination in every movement, "Gotta whip your ass, Sammy, make sure this never happens again. It's what Dad would do so it's what I'm gonna do. You need to stop thinking about your own damn needs and look at the bigger picture. So what if you were cold, so what? You took a damn stupid risk and you could have died, Sam, are you getting that? And that is not okay with me, not at all. And I know damn sure it wouldn't be okay with Dad. So-" And Dean rolls his shoulders back, takes on the task, Sam can see him do it and _no, just no_ -

His brother continues, his tone resolute, hard as stone, "Gonna make you breakfast and after we're done eating, gonna take you outside so you can choose your own switch. You're gonna do the dishes while I strip it and make sure there's nothing gonna cut you and then you're gonna drop your jeans, bend over the kitchen table, and take your licks, 'cause you deserve them. You understanding me, Sammy?"

"Dean, wait, I-" Sam can barely speak, his heart tripping fast in his chest and his throat closes up, the ball of tension in it making swallowing impossible and he feels the tears lick at his eyes, burn into them and what the hell? Feels like crying already and he doesn't understand this, any of this-

He stares down at his shaking hands, shoulders raked up with tension, can't even believe Dean's threatening to switch him, "You can't do this. I'm fourteen and you can't just whip me. It's not right. I'm big now and you-you can't."

Dean stands up, hikes up his jeans and hefts a hand under Sam's armpit, hauls him to his feet and starts leading him to the kitchen, "But I can, Sam, and I'm gonna. Come on, let's get you fed and get to it. Don't want to, Sam. _Have to._ Need you to make better choices, take care of yourself and you ain't gonna learn until I drill it into your ass. So, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to normal."

And Sam blindly follows, watches Dean make peanut butter jelly, his brain in a stunned, surreal haze because he can't even wrap his mind around what Dean said, much less do what his brother wants him to. Nope, all he can do is moment to moment, can't think past now because it's freaking him out just knowing what's hovering over him, what's waiting for him after breakfast. It's screwing with his head big time.

Because it's the waiting that's the worst, knowing he's gonna get his ass beat with a rod of his own choosing and knowing that Dean is hating this, would chop off his right arm rather than hurt Sam, but he's unyielding anyway.

Sam eats what's put in front of him, sawdust taste and trembling fear, because he can't believe Dean's actually gonna do this.

Yeah, sure, Dean's swatted him a time or two on the way by, to prove a point, but his Dad is the one who punishes, who beats his ass whenever he needs it but Dean-

Never. _Never_.

And the thought of it is scaring the hell out of him, making him quake in his skin because damn.

Dad would always do it fast and sudden and you never saw it coming. One minute you were vertical and the next you were laid out, held down across a hard lap, kicking and screaming because your ass was getting flame-broiled. He never warned Sam in advance, never made him wait for it but this-

Jesus. To be told it's coming-to have to do normal routine tasks and then to have to choose your own branch, knowing it's gonna lay harsh stripes across your bare skin, that's it's gonna break you faster than spit, well-

That's just torture, pure and simple and _Jesus, Christ, he's so fucking scared._

Knows that Dean doesn't want to do this, so he's leaving it to Sam to cooperate, to take care of this so Dean only has to do the deed – making sure Sam gets hurt as little as possible while meting out the discipline he knows he must.

Bottom line is – Sam put them both in this position. And that's the worst part of all.

##

He chews the last bite of sandwich, feels the gallows fall into his soul, black and dim and he can't do this, what Dean wants from him-

"Come on, Sam. Let's get it done." And the hand under his arm is insistent, pulling him off the chair and to his feet, marching him outside without his consent and _he doesn't want to do this, okay?_

He digs his feet in and stops, won't go another foot and he's shaking his head at Dean, holding onto the doorway with fear-gripped fingers-

Dean moves against him, the hand on his skin insistent, his eyes defeated, like he's got no choices left and that kills Sam's heart, hurts his soul, and he hates that he's making Dean do this-

His brother's voice cracks on the words, like it's ripping him open to say them, "Okay, you don't seem to understand, Sam. Either you choose the switch or I will. This is happening with or without your consent so get to it, because I need another cup of coffee before we gotta do our chores. Those guns won't clean themselves and Dad wants us to train for most of the day so get going. Please, Sammy, just…just do it."

And the pain in Dean's voice has Sam suddenly acquiescing, all his fight gone as he goes outside with switchblade in hand, fingering tree branches and assessing them for give and width, knows what to look for as he's unfortunately had a lot of experience on the receiving end of a switch with his Dad but he can't believe Dean's actually gonna go through with it-

Tears start rolling down his cheeks as he finds one, saws at it a couple feet down, makes sure Dean's got swinging room and it's thick enough to not snap under the force. His bottom is tingling scared and his shoulders are hunched in as he turns, dejected, walks back to the house, back to Dean who's waiting in the doorway. He wordlessly hands the limb to his brother and slips around him, gonna do the dishes like he's supposed to, just needs to get this done, get this over with so he can cry with good reason-

##

He finishes the dishes, his mind scattered, jumping from thought to thought, his focus pathetic and he can't think of anything else besides the sound of Dean behind him, methodically scraping the tree limb free of knobs and whorls, making a smooth surface to pound into Sam's skin.

Sam dries his trembling hands on the threadbare towel, nerves pinging sharp and he doesn't know what to do, how to act because he's beside himself with fear, can't handle this, any of this-

Turns and looks at his brother and Dean looks so broken, so sad and resigned that his own strength kicks in, his balls drop and he grits his jaw, stiffens his spine and marches forward, can't hurt Dean anymore, just gotta take this, so it's done and Dean doesn't have to look like he just killed his best friend-

Stares at his brother while he unbuttons his pants because he's a Winchester and he does what he's supposed to, like it or not and this is just another thing he's got to get through, so he learns, to make him safe.

Like every other hunter lesson he's ever had, it hurts but it's necessary and then he'll be better, faster, stronger, smarter and he won't die because of being unprepared or ignorant, nope, when he goes out, it'll be because the other foe was a killing machine, with stronger magic or more power unlike any the Winchesters had known before.

It won't be because of his own stupidity.

He shoves down his jeans, eager now to get this finished, leaves his underwear on until he's warmed up because no way is Dean whipping him cold and Sam curls over onto his bent elbows, his bottom clenching and twitching with anticipation, with dread-

Barely senses movement but suddenly, Dean's at his side, warm rough palm settling on his back and his brother doesn't say a word, just stands there for a moment breathing in harsh pulls of air before Sam feels the shift, Dean's body tightening, tensing and he knows Dean's drawn his hand back, feels the rush of wind just before and-

SMACK!

 _Oh, fucking hell, that hurts! T_ he loose breath in his lungs gathers together, catches on an exhale and Sam whooshes out his breath, rocks forward, tries to take it-

He can tell the difference immediately, the swats he's gotten from Dean before child's play but this-

This is serious, life or death and Dean's gonna kick his ass, punish him like he's never been punished before and Sam's bottom is trembling with reaction, can feel the hot print of Dean's palm glowing on his left cheek and _damn, it hurts!_

CRACK!

The right cheek gets a hard whack, makes him yelp out loud and _shit, this is awful!_

"OWWWW! Dean, please, come on, huh? You gotta hit so hard?" Sam can hear the whine in his voice as he pushes up, tries to stand, gonna get the hell out of here right the hell now-

But Dean's arm wraps around him like a shot, holds him in place against one hip, pushes Sam's top half down on the table so his ass is sticking up and the slaps start for real, slamming into his skin with purpose, snapping from cheek to cheek like lightning bolts and burning up Sam's rear-end in the process, his bottom hot fire-

It becomes a blur of sharp stings, his thread-bare underwear protecting him from nothing and his brother is like a goddamn robot, the smacks against his skin speeding up until Sam can't catch a breath, can only hunch rigid, hop from foot to foot and hang onto the table with white knuckles as he tries to take it-

The air is alive with the sounds of it, the dull thud of flesh on thin cotton, the sharp snap when Dean hits his exposed thighs and Sam's own shouts-can't keep it in because with each land of his brother's iron palm, the pain ratchets up, his backside hot as fuck, knows his skin is cherry red underneath his skivvies and he can't take much more of this-

Dean stops abruptly and pulls down Sam's shorts in one smooth move-

His naked flesh bared to the wind, covered in goose bumps because he's still so goddamn cold-

And Sam doesn't even know he starts babbling, can hear himself in his ears but can't stop it, can't even slow the pitiful pleading dropping out of his mouth-

"No, Dean, NOOO! Please, Not ready, need more warm up, can't take it, know I can't, please don't whip me, it's, pleeeaaassseeee-"

But Dean steps back for a moment and the sound through the air is a high-pitched whistle, the crack across his ass pure fire, a line of burning flames and it catches Sam's voice, freezes him in place and he arches back in a silent scream, frozen because the pain in so intense, he can't react-

But then it barrels into him, spreads over his body and he yelps with it, the echo of it making him sob and he doesn't understand it, been switched plenty and never reacted like this before so what the hell?

It's like he's dying inside, his shame, pain and fear swirling into a black hole that's threatening to swallow him down, and he just needs Dean to stop, before he breaks completely-

"You're getting fifteen, Sam. One for each year plus one to grow on, just like Dad would do so count 'em out for me"

And the next slice across his flesh burns through him, making him holler out "Two!" before he collapses down, grips the table like a life-line, his whole body shaking with reaction-

The third cut is below the other two and Sam hops up on his toes with it, the deep slash a scorching line of fire burnt into his flesh and he yelps, "Three!" before pulling himself forward onto his elbows, hunching over to try and take what Dean says he must.

It becomes a blur of agony, a small part of Sam's brain working his mouth, crying out the numbers while the rest of him is curled, huddled into himself and he's trying not to cry, biting into his lip and drawing blood, holding himself rock-stiff, his muscles hard chords as he tries to take his whipping like a man but he's not a man, he's a freaking kid and he can't take anymore, he just can't-

His bottom is alive with pain, can feel the welts even as the hot shame pours over him and he will never, ever take such a chance with his life again.

Swears it to Dean with every slash, promising his brother everything if he'll just stop hitting, his thighs and ass pulsing with pain-

It's ten before he breaks, his will bent and crumbled and he starts wailing, sobbing, apologizing to Dean and vowing to be more careful-

Thirteen and he's bawling openly, tears cascading down like a waterfall, can't see through them and his ass is throbbing numb, smarting sore and he just needs Dean to love him again-

The last two are delivered fast and he's yanked up, in Dean's arms before he can think to hide, burying himself in his big brother's hug and crying like his heart is breaking-

Snot and tear covered, he holds on tight, his brother's soothing noises washing over him as he weeps and he's carried to the bed, laid down on his belly and he's naked from the waist down, must've kicked off his underwear during his spanking and he doesn't care that he's wide open, doesn't care that he's exposed, nope-

Because it's over and he made it, he did it and him and Dean are good now-

Knows it because his brother is rubbing his back, mumbling incoherent sounds that cover him with love and want, knows he's forgiven because he begged for it, knows that Dean still loves him because it's in his touch and his voice-

Cries himself to sleep, exhausted, his rear-end thumping and pounding with his heartbeat but he's curled into Dean's arms and that's all he knows.

##

He wakes up, confused and sore, sits up and sees Dean in a chair across from him, methodically cleaning a gun, a long handled brush sweeping through the chamber as he watches Sam sleep.

"Dean." His voice is a barely there croak, throat swollen from hollering and his ass is a sweltering mess-

Rolls off It with a gasp of pain as soon as awareness hits and he slides a hand down, trying to assess the damage-

"Ahhhh" it's a raw groan, because his bottom is sore as hell, can't even put weight on it-

"Sammy, just-stay" And Dean is there, rolls him onto his stomach and putting an ice-pack on, the sweet cool of it helping as Dean hovers like a worried parent, "Just let it sit for a few minutes, man. You took-a lot and now you just gotta let yourself heal-"

"Dean…" And it's the most important thing in the world and he has to get this out, "Forgive? Forgive me?"

There's a heavy silence before he feels the warm body slide in behind him, "Jesus Christ, Sam, of course, _of course_."

And he's wrapped in tight embrace but Sam can't rest, not until he tells Dean the truth-

"I'm so sorry, know it was stupid, and then I put you in that position, know you didn't want to and you had to, because of my stupid choices, and I'm so fucking sorry, Dean-"

Dean draws back and looks at him, studies his tear-stained face and he watches Dean break, the handsome features crumble and fall, tears gathering in his brother's green eyes-

"Goddamn it, Sammy, didn't want to do it, had to, h _ad to a_ nd fuck, it almost killed me, having to hit you like that, felt like I was dying with every smack and please, please, man-don't ever do anything like that again because I can't, Sam. I can't hurt you, make you cry, I just-I can't, okay? I'm not Dad and I-I felt every whip like it was my own, felt it burn into my skin and would rather take a thousand licks for you than switch you again."

He reaches up, wipes at Dean's wet eyes, gives him an oath, "Won't, Dean, I swear. I'll take better care of myself from now on, I promise! Please, don't-don't cry, I'm okay…I'm okay-"

Dean pulls closer, buries his face in Sam's neck to hide and Sam can feel the wet leaking in as his brother lets go, shudders out his pain, his anguish against Sam's skin because they both know with Sam, he's not strong at all.

Sam bumps against him after Dean's breath starts hitching, knows he's getting control of himself and tries for a laugh-"Hey, at least I'm warm now, because the heat from my butt is keeping the rest of me toasty so cuddle up if you want some of this."

Dean gives a watery chuckle and bends down, gets Sam's underwear and helps him into it before he does just that, scoots in and wraps the gross blanket over them, Sam's hot bottom warming them both in the cool morning light.

And Sam doesn't even mind the stinky blanket now, he doesn't mind the cold air and possessive hands of his big brother because he's grateful - that he has Dean looking out for him, that the whipping is over and done with and him and Dean are good now.

But mostly, he's just glad that he's alive.

## End ##


End file.
